Language of Hands
by JD11
Summary: “Doctor, what-?” His tongue snakes out, running up along the curve of her clavicle, stopping just at the base of her neck. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. “You’re practically exuding hormones." 10/Rose 1st in 'Incompatible' series
1. Cultural Differences

_Author's Note:_ I'll be honest, this one started as just a smut piece, but I merged it with another idea and ended up with this. Hope you enjoy it!

_Time Frame:_ This assumes that months pass between Mickey leaving and 'Idiot's Lantern'. Takes place between these two.

_Summary: _  
"Doctor, what-?"  
His tongue snakes out, running up along the curve of her clavicle, stopping just at the base of her neck. Too long for a sample to analyze. She is just surprised, that is why she is breathing so fast. The planet is naturally hotter than they were used to, that's why his hand is boiling against her skin. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth and his feet force him to move away.  
"Doctor?" If her voice shakes, it isn't because of him.  
"You're practically exuding hormones."

/-/-/-

**Language of Hands**

He has absolutely no idea how they managed to be invited.

No idea.

Not that he plans on letting Rose know that. She thinks that he had deliberately chosen their destination, taken some care in landing them away from prying eyes, walked them easily towards the town, worked a bit of magic with his babbling and slightly physic paper, and got them invited to the Region's daughter's wedding.

In reality, he had every intention of taking them to see some ice sculptors that he was fond on of Keldar V but the TARDIS had seen fit to drop them there, in the middle of some farmer's field. He had picked a direction at random and ended up in the city's main market where Rose had insisted on looking through one of the shops. He had waited outside.

And that's when it happened. When he had somehow gotten involved in a hostile argument, got punched in the face, babbled his way out of being arrested, convinced some random streetlings that he was someone important, and discovered that the man who had punched him was the Region's advisor. That was how he met Devyn, the Region's son, who had invited him to his sister's wedding as a version of an apology.

The Doctor is pretty certain that he wants to keep Rose in the dark about the specifics. It makes him sound a bit better.

And that is what brought him to be standing in the archway separating the entrance to the luxurious dance hall. It isn't the architecture- the arched windows lined with gold, the intricately laid marble flooring, the centuries of history painted on the expansive ceiling- that catches his eye. It isn't the remarkably Grecian dresses or the elegantly tailored suits or the sundry of exotic foods arranged throughout the hall. It's Rose. Because he's found that, ever since the war, the exploration and the discoveries and the excitement isn't half as much of a rush as the look of awe on her face when he's shown her something new and formerly unknown.

Her hand is clasped in his and she leaning against his shoulder as she often does. Finally, once she's taken in the sight, she grins excitedly up at him. He loves that look of mischief and he can't help but smile back down at her, a brow quirking as if to say, "What do you think?"

"This is brilliant!"

"You think? Just a wedding."

She rolls her eyes at him. Sometimes she wonders if it was the alien side of him or the male side of him that completely misses the excitement of things. "It's a huge party with hundreds of really rich people and great food and we've been invited to stay for the next three days." Rose searches through the crowd, loving the sight of Grecian robes and delicate jewels adorning the olive skinned women. "So who's who?"

He shrugs, "No idea. That bloke over there, in the red suit thing, he's the Region's son. The one who invited us."

"Ah."

"And that man there, in the greyish suit next to him, is some sort of advisor to the throne. Didn't catch his name though."

"And the bride and groom?"

"Not here yet, I don't think."

"So tell me about this place. What are the weddings like?"

"No idea. Don't know much beyond the basics. Region is in charge of the entire planet. It's a monarchy, but unlike England the throne goes to the eldest regardless of gender. I believe that the Region's daughter is heir."

"Cool."

"Beyond that, I'm as lost as you are. Exciting, huh?"

She looks up at him. This time it is definitely the alien in him not quite getting it. It is one thing not to be excited about a party, but he finds it just a little too entertaining to stroll blindly into a situation that could end up being potentially dangerous, life-threatening, insulting, embarrassing, or include jail-time.

A melodic chime whispers through the open hall, crushing all sounds of conversation. Rose looks up at the Doctor, eyes questioning him but he isn't looking at her. She follows his gaze and finds his attention to be at the top of the stairs. And there she is. The Region herself, or at least, Rose assumes it must be the Region. Her gown is lined with purple and the design and embroidery is far more elaborate than the rest of the guests. Her deep black hair is pulled back into delicate knots and what can only be described as a jewelled crown sits naturally on top her head. With shoulders squared and a soft smile gracing her royal cheeks, she steps aside to allow the couple behind her to be seen.

The couple is even lovelier than the Region herself. Younger, not much older than Rose herself, with equally majestic and ornate robes. There is a look of Grecian royalty on their lightly coloured faces and dark eyes and the way they look at each other makes Rose smile at the sight of such obvious love. At least this world doesn't believe in the pathetic political game of arranging royal marriages.

Then, just as abruptly as they were interrupted to signify the entrance of their hosts, the three had descended into the crowd and noise and music erupted throughout the room. Rose smiles up at the Doctor, tugging on his arm.

"Can we meet them?"

"Of course. What else are we here for?" She smiles at him and he can't help but smile back. "Come on!"

"Doctor?" They turn and the Doctor smiles at the man before him. "I'm glad to see that you were able to come."

"Wouldn't have missed it."

"And this must be your friend you mentioned."

"Yes, Rose, this is Sir Devyn Kendrix, the Region's son and the one who invited us. Sir Devyn, this is my companion, Dame Rose Tyler."

Rose looks back to the man before her, trying to hid the blush that came to her cheeks in response to being- once again- in the presence of royalty. He was good looking- high cheek bones, dark brown eyes, dark brown hair grown long but still neat. As the Doctor had said, he is wearing a red suit thing, not quite the Greek robes to match the women, but it didn't actually look out of place in the ancient looking home.

"A pleasure," he says with an incline of his head. She's almost disappointed that he doesn't kiss her hand or cheeks.

"Devyn," a woman cooed as her arm hooked around Devyn's. Rose looks her over, smiling fondly at the way the woman's hand curls into Devyn's and his dark eyes naturally focus entirely on her. "Is it true what Lynan says? You caused a riot in the market this morning?"

"I wouldn't say riot." Rose smirks at the teasing and watches at the man's eyes search out the Doctors. "What's your opinion, Doctor? Did we cause a riot?"

Rose can't tell if his eyes dart away from her because he's thinking or if it has something to do with the slight pink creeping over his cheeks. "Riot? Hardly. More like a scuffle. A small misunderstanding, really." He's rambling, like he always does when he gets nervous and she wants to laugh, more because he's nervous about something than because of his rambling that she's grown accustomed to.

"Thank-you, Doctor," Devyn chuckles, and gestures to the woman on his arm and another woman Rose hadn't even noticed off to the side, "This is my wife, Odella, the love of my life. And next to her- as I'm sure you know- is my sister, Lynan."

The Doctor smiles at the two- his soft, polite pull of his lips that he reserves for these awkward moments of introduction- before bowing slightly in a similar way that Devyn had before. Following his lead, Rose gave a short curtsy.

"This is the Doctor and his companion Rose."

"My brother told me about you, Doctor. I am glad that you were able to help him with his… slight disagreement."

"Not a problem. Thank-you for allowing us to be at your wedding."

She just inclined her head, turning her eyes to Rose. "It is time to eat. Join us, we would be delighted to hear more about you. And," her eyes sweep over Rose's body, her jeans and t-shirt standing out uncomfortable amongst the regal gowns of the other guests, "where you and your friend come from."

Rose nods, "Of course, we'd love it." Her hand slips into the Doctor's, such a natural gesture and yet she feels almost scandalous at the way three sets of eyes drop to their joined hands. She drops his hand almost as quickly and doesn't look when she hears him cough uncomfortably and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Lead on, I'm starved."

Rose is a bit surprised when Devyn sister, Lynan, wraps her arm through hers and leads her towards the dinning hall. Odella, Devyn's wife, is beside them, chattering away about something Rose can't quite follow. She smiles over her shoulder, hoping that the Doctor and Devyn are following.

The dinning hall is huge, just like the rest of the palace- as Rose has begun to think of the place. Two unbelievably long tables fill the hall and Lynan heads for the one off to the right, dropping Rose's arm and wrapping her hands around the chair at the foot of the table. Odella continues around her, delicately taking the seat next to Lynan. "Rose, please join us."

Rose smiles and steps up to the chair across from Odella. Her hand curls around the side of the high backed chair, pulling it out and preparing to sit when she notices that they Doctor isn't following her. She turns just as Devyn touches his elbow and says, "We're over there, Doctor."

The Doctor just nods, turning away from her and following Devyn to the other side of the hall. She reaches out to him. He stops, smiling at her when he turns back around. "It's just a cultural thing. It's fine. Enjoy your womanly gossip."

He is such a dork sometimes. She swats his arm lightly, but even so she can't help but laugh and say, "Enjoy your manly political discussion."

"Oh, I will."

Rose takes her seat. She doesn't notice until then that she's surrounded by the females. She twists around, looking over the high backed chair, to see that the Doctor has been lead over to the other side of the room, where all the men have been seated.

She wonders briefly why they're segregated, but the food's suddenly arrive, whisked in on silver platters. The place might be posh, but at least she doesn't have twenty forks to choose between. She waits, looking carefully around at the other women to see what she should do- she'd had to start eating if there were some kind of grace or other ritual.

Thankfully there isn't and Rose takes in her food for the first time. It looks almost normal- something approaching fruit and vegetables- but she's not so sure about the colours. She doesn't normally eat foods that are red and blue, but she's just as willing to try as she's ever been.

"So, your Doctor… what is his full name?"

Rose looks up at Lynan's voice, swallowing down the interesting spice of the blue fruit. "Just the Doctor. He doesn't have a name beyond that."

"Curious," Odella sighs beside Lynan, her voice drawn out in a mostly bored sort of way.

Rose tries to ignore her, having already decided that Odella is something of a snob. She reaches out for her goblet- gorgeous, made from gold and decorated with engraved symbols. It's red, slightly thick. She thinks it might be wine and takes a sip. Sweet, vaguely like red wine but much better. She takes another sip.

"How long ago were you wed?"

Rose started, very nearly choking on her wine, as she looks up to find Lynan calmly watching her, chewing thoughtfully on her food. Rose clears her throat, taking a small sip to soothe her throat before setting the goblet down. "Sorry?"

"How long ago were you wed?"

"Oh, em… we're not. Married. We're not married."

The look shared between Lynan and Odella didn't go unnoticed by her. Odella looked back to her, "But I saw you holding hands. You can't not be married."

Of course the Doctor would find a society that's prudish enough to equate hand holding with marriage. Rose sighs, wringing her hands as she wets her lips. A tight smile graces her face as she looks back to them, "Right, of course. It's… complicated."

Lynan leans in, smirking playfully as she does. "Oh, do tell."

"Well," her eyes look off to the side, desperately searching her imagination for a reason why she would have to hide her marriage. "My mother was venomously opposed to our relationship. We got married against her wishes… three weeks ago. We haven't told anyone- been trying to hide it as much as possible. Guess we just forgot ourselves here."

Odella had gone back to her food, unimpressed by her explanation. But Lynan's smiling at her, amusement playing over her face. "You two make a cute couple." Rose couldn't help but blush. Why did people always think they're a couple? "Why would she object to him?"

Rose laughs at that, shaking her head, "It's a long story."


	2. The Honeymoon Bed?

_Author's Note:_ Thanks so much for all your positive comments! I'm surprised to see how many people actually clicked on the first chapter. ;) Here's the next one. Enjoy!

/-/-

"Rose?" His voice breaks through the polite chattering and Rose turns to see the Doctor as he takes a few long strides to catch up to her. Rose smiles her goodnights to Lynan and Odella before they walk off, leaving her to wait for the Doctor to step up next to her. "How was your dinner?"

"Lovely."

"Good. Devyn told me that we have quarters prepared for us. Although they only gave us one, not sure why. They have enough to spare."

"It's because we're married." She tries so hard not to smirk at him, but the muscles in her face refuse to cooperate and when she notices that he stopped two steps behind her, she can't help but turn and reveal the goofy grin spreading over her face. His brows are creased in confusion, a look of too much concentration hardening his features. It makes him look kind of cute.

"We're what?"

"Married." She steps closer, her voice lowering to keep the others from hearing her, "Or, at least, that's what I told them to avoid a cultural misunderstanding."

"They think we're married?"

"Yep," she pops the 'p' just to taunt him with his own overly smug habit and takes his arm before he can comment. She tugs at him to get him moving and he begins leading them towards the north wing where the bedrooms are. "Holding hands is apparently reserved solely for married couples."

"Hmm…" Is all he says and she glances up at him to see if his thoughts have drifted away from him. Instead, he smiles at her and erupts into a tirade about apparently fascinating facts that Devyn told him during dinner. She pretends to listen as she keeps her attention focused on remembering the path to their room.

Elaborate gold trimmed doors open to lead them out into a gorgeous garden. A square walkway surrounded the entire thing, the concrete paths covered by roofing, which didn't extend over the garden itself, and lined with doors leading to what she could only assume were guest rooms. He lead her to the right and she keeps her sigh on the vines wrapping around the ornate columns and the masterpieces of art which were the flower arrangements and overgrown bushes and thin, lush trees growing near the fish pond.

They stop before she realizes that the Doctor has found their room. He steps in first and she walks inside around him. It isn't exactly what she expected as the guest room of the royal family. The room is simple- a plain square room, with plain tan coloured walls. There's one bed in the corner, just a simple bed, big enough for two, with only a thin blanket and she assumes that the nights must not get much cooler than the days. A wooden wardrobe is by the other wall and, when she looks into it, she finds a simple dress, much like the other women had been wearing, as well as what she assumes is a nightdress. There is also a men's suit in there and, as she glances over at the Doctor with a suggestive smile, he glares at her and she knows better than to try and get him into it. There's also a simple washing area with nothing there to hid behind for privacy.

He's stepped just far enough inside the room to let the door close behind him and he's leaning up against the only window in the room. He's just watching her, not caring as much for the room itself as her reactions to it. There's something playing in the corners of his eyes, a twinkling that's reflected in the playful smirk on his face.

And it's contagious for her, so she smiles back, a big, goofy grin and steps closer to him. "So I guess that means we got married today."

"Should have carried you over the threshold then? That's a Human tradition right?"

She laughs softly at him and nods, taking the last few steps closer to him so she can wrap her arms around his neck. He doesn't seem to mind as she thought he might considering his hands are reaching up almost instinctually to rest on her hips. "Does that make that the honeymoon bed then?"

His eyebrows pop up and she nearly bites her tongue for letting that slip out, but a smirk is making the corners of his lips twitch and she relaxes back into his hold. "Mm, well it would be if we were sharing it."

"That's right."

"I guess it won't though, since you'll be on the floor."

She pulls back from the embrace, not enough to force his hands from her hips or even her hands from his shoulders, just enough to see his face properly. "I'm on the floor? You're the one who never sleeps."

"Maybe I'm tired tonight."

"Yeah, then you can sleep on the floor."

And that brings out the pout. The one look on his adorable face that she can't resist. He pulls her closer. Her eyes can't help dropping down to stare at his bottom lip, the one that's poking out, taunting her, teasing her, egging on the impulse to dip in closer.

She forces her eyes to find his, to warn away any thoughts of leaning closer, but that almost makes it worse. His eyes are intense, burning through her, pulling her in and loosing her in their brown warmth. They're so ancient and pained and yet so beautiful. Bedroom eyes.

She wets her lips and is startled to find just how delighted she is to see his eyes drop to watch her tongue poke out.

"Maybe we can share," his voice is low, sending shivers along her spin, "if you behave."

It is tempting, so tempting to just hold onto him like that forever, to lean in closer, to rest her head against his chest or, better yet, bring her lips to his and-

She pulls away, letting her hands linger against his chest longer than she had intended and stepping away to force his hands from her hips. Her mind leads her back over to the wardrobe and she grabs the nightgown she had seen in there earlier.

"You want me to leave while you change?"

His voice startles her a little and she peers over her shoulder to find his hands balled in his pockets. "No, that's okay. Just don't look," she scolds him and he smiles at her, nodding in amusement.

She lays the nightgown on the bed and turns her body to face the other wall. She chances another glance over her shoulder to make sure that he has his back to her- not that she doesn't trust him but just to make sure. Her hands reach down and pull her top over her head. His breathing hitches and she stills, just for long enough to realize that his breath is coming in soft pants. She continues stripping, trying hard not to listen to him, but her hearing is overly stimulated now and that's why she hears more movement behind her.

It's instinct that has her hand cover herself and she twists to look over her shoulder again. His shoulders are shaking his jacket off. He pulls at his tie, loosening it enough to work at the buttons of his shirt. She tries to even out her breathing as she watches his shoulders flex and his clothes come off. He's stripping, right in front of her. It's happened before, when they've shared a room, but never before has she watched him-

What is she doing? Her eyes snap back to the wall in front of her, her cheeks are flaming. Quickly she throws her nightgown over her head and slips under the covers. Then she shifts closer to the wall the bed is pushed up against, giving him room to lay down besides her.

By the time she looks over at him, he's folding his trousers and adding it to the pile of clothes neatly laid out on the floor. She looks hastily down at the pile she left on the floor and shrugs, far beyond caring about their different views on tidiness.

He's smirking at her once she looks back at him. But she's not paying any attention to his smiling face because her eyes are focused on the fact that he actually wears boxers- red boxers! Her eyes raise and she finds herself disappointed to realize that he had another shirt on, a red-blue t-shirt that hides his lean form from her sight- what is she going on about?

The Doctor ruffles his hair in a tired sort of gesture and finally he slips underneath the covers to lay on his back next to her. She turns over to face him, her hand resting under her cheek, her other arm laying over the thin covers. He glances at her from the corner of his eye before shifting and mimicking her position.

For a while, silence controls their conversation. Her eyes drop to his hand laid sprawled over the blanket and she takes it. For a moment, she studies his palm, running her thumb over the soft ridges and lines. Her exploration follows along his cool fingers, feeling the lack of fingerprints. She plays with his fingers for a moment before twining their fingers together. He just watches her, bemusement colouring his features.

"Must be one stuffy culture that finds holding hands scandalous."

He chuckles. "Not necessarily. Probably a good reason somewhere in the culture."

"Yeah? Like what?"

He shrugs, sighing a bit into her hair. "Some touch telepathic races find any form of contact intimate."

She finds his eyes at that. He's not smiling any more at her. "Like yours?"

"Yeah."

"So holding my hand all the time…?" Her voice trails off as she waits for an answer. He doesn't say anything at first and she lets the corner of her lips curve at the sight of him squirming.

"It's a friendly thing."

"Yeah, uh-huh."

She drops his hand and finds his eyes again. He's smiling at her again, his embarrassment gone. He reaches up with his now free hand to brush away the stray blonde locks that have fallen into her eyes.

Then he surprises her. His hand drops beneath the covers and pulls her to him. He falls onto his back, bringing her body to rest against his side and urging her head to fall onto his chest. She tenses at the feel of his arm holding her and his body flush against hers, but her body calms faster than her mind and her hand comes to rest over his left heart; her head relaxes into the comfort of his chest and she closes her eyes, letting the hum of his double-heart beat calm her mind.


	3. Traditional Garb

_Author's Note: _Wow! Thanks for all the great reviews once again. I'm glad you're all enjoying! ;) Well here's the next one. Cheers!

/-/-

The gentle tendrils of light tug Rose's mind further away from slumber. She grumbles in a half-aware sort of way and rolls onto her side, hoping to escape the bright wake up call, but her actions only make it worse. She burrows her face into the pillow, her hand reaching out unconsciously for the form she thinks ought to be next to her.

There's nothing.

Her eyes peak out over the hills of rumpled pillows and under the mussed strands of hair to search for some explanation. She's alone in her bed, which she knows ought to be a good thing- or at least an okay thing- but there's the faint murmuring of disappointment flaring in the back of her mind.

Her grogginess slowly evaporates from her rested limbs as she rolls onto her back, brushing the hair from her eyes and mouth as she stares up at the ceiling, waiting for the Doctor to make his presence known.

He never does.

Unlike she had hoped, he isn't already awake, sitting in the room, waiting for her inefficient human mind to rest. She waits a little longer, her ears straining to hear the sounds of his soft trainers on the paved path just outside the door.

Nothing.

She sighs, stretching her arms over her head and mournfully rising from the cosy covers. He isn't coming to fetch her for breakfast- she didn't really expected him to- and she can hear the other occupants already meandering around the garden, probably heading for whatever serves as breakfast on this planet.

The nightgown slides easily off her body and she picks her bra up off the ground, absently hooking the back as she looks curiously over at the wardrobe. The clothing had been left for her to use, if she wished. She wonders how the Grecian dress would feel flowing around her legs, barely shielding her neck and shoulders from view. She even remembers a head piece placed gently on the shelf besides the hanging clothes.

A soft smile stretches her lips and she walks over to the wardrobe, her clothes left forgotten on the floor.

The dress is better than she had expected. Flowing, silk-like material grazing over her hips and thighs and just barely hiding her sandal clad feet. Thin strips of material hold the dress to her shoulders, leaving her arms sleeveless and her neck bare.

She uses the mirror to weave her hair back out of her face and off her shoulders. She fumbles with the head piece for a moment before figuring out how to hold it in place. The gold band fits snugly around her head, keeping the light red jewel hanging just over the frown of her brow.

She steps back, trying and having a hard time with getting a full view of herself. She nearly gasps when the entire picture comes into view. Looking over herself in the mirror, she thinks she looks close to godliness- if she can be so presumptuous. The gown is slimming and delicate, a pure white that seems to almost glow against her skin. And the gold band around her forehead held back by her braided hair gives her a sense of royalty, of nobleness that she can only really claim from her adventure with Queen Victoria.

She grins widely at the thought of the Doctor's face when he sees her. Hastily she folds her clothes and places them in the bottom of the wardrobe before stepping out into the warm daylight enveloping the garden. She searches the area for a moment, wondering if maybe the Doctor has been waiting outside in the garden for her or if he is walking along the path looking for her or chatting with one of the other guests.

But there is no sight of him. She shrugs it off, stumbling along the path as she tries to find the way to the dinning room. There isn't so much of a formal breakfast, as there had been a dinner, than there is a buffet table made up of an assortment of unrecognizable foods. She pops a couple of what she can only describe as cherries that taste oddly like oranges as she scanned the crowd. She recognizes Devyn off in the corner and Lynan surrounded by a gaggle of other women.

Rose sighs. Still no Doctor. She figures that he had either eaten earlier, before she had waken, and is now off exploring, or that he will appear before long.

She gathers up a decent helping of safe looking food into a bowl and joins Lynan. The group laugh lightly at something said just as Rose approaches them, hesitating shyly behind an unknown woman, before Lynan notices her. A smile splits her face and Lynan beckons her forward.

"By the Sun, Rose."

"Em…" She looks down at the food held carefully between her hands before guessing at what Lynan means. "By the Sun," she replies, assuming that it was some kind of morning greeting.

"You look lovely in the traditional garb."

"Thank-you."

"Yes," the woman to her right, the one she vaguely recalls is named Meghan, agrees, "It suits you."

She presses another fruitlike item to her lips, hoping to hide her reddening cheeks from the group.

She stays there with them for a while, occasionally nodding or asking questions as the group gossips over the town and the guests and discuss the wedding and politics and the Region, along with a few other things that Rose can't quite follow, before she excuses herself once the contents of her bowl have been exhausted.

The Doctor has two stomachs to keep fed, or so he often tells her, and it isn't like him to skip a meal. If her mother is anything to go off, he can eat her out of house and home all on his own, never mind with her there as well.

He isn't there in the dinning hall- she has checked twice. He isn't out in the main hall, where several men- including Devyn- are milling about waiting for their wives. He isn't in the library that she has stumbled upon. It takes her longer than she likes to discover that he is sitting with his elbows on his knees beneath a tree out in the garden.

She knows that look. It is the look that says "don't interrupt me, I'm working on something super important and something might blow up… or I'll just get distracted and forget what I was doing".

She stops just a few paces from him, watching his face wrinkle in concentration and smooth out as inspiration hits and fades away.

Then, just as always, he snaps himself from his thoughts and equations and smiles up at her. She grins down at him, her lips parting to speak but she stops. His eyes have fallen over her body, growing wider the further down they travel. His mouth has fallen a bit slack and gives his tongue trouble when he finally meets her eyes to speak. She has always known that his gaze could make her tremble but never before has it wrapped her body in the warmth of desire, pulling it to the centre of her being and leaving a tiny bit of the extra heat to flush her cheeks and tips of her ears.

"You look lovely." His voice is soft, warmer even than his dark eyes.

"Thank-you."

And, just as quickly as every one of his mood shifts, he springs from the ground, a manic smile making his eyes glow with discovery. "You'll never guess what I figured out this morning."

"You could give me a hint."

"Nah." He dusts his butt off as he continues, "I noticed something when I was talking with the kitchen staff earlier this morning- lovely bunch. Always get on their good sides. Never good if you make them mad at you. Could end up starved or with the corner pieces of anything that has corners. Anyway," she stifles a laugh at the gab he has developed and nods encouragingly as he fights to remember where he had began, "Right, hormones!"

"Sorry?" He's lost her.

"Everyone on this planet is just brimming with the same exact hormone. And when I say brimming, I mean exuding it in unnatural amounts. Nothing like what the body could possibly produce- or at least want to produce."

"What kind of hormone?"

"No idea. But it's everyone. Children, adults, the elderly."

"Wait, how do you know they all have it?"

"I can smell it. Well, it would be easier to taste it, but I figured if hand holding is synonymous to marriage, didn't want to know what that would mean for licking someone." Rose isn't sure if she should laugh, shake her head, or hit him. She opts for a mixture of the three.

"You can smell hormones?"

"Of course."

"How?"

He rolls her eyes, just as she expected he would, but then elaborates. "You humans, and those species like you, excrete all sorts of things. Pheromones, hormones, salts- all sorts of things. Each one has a very specific scent and taste to it. Geez, how do you get by with such useless little bodies?"

Rose just stares at him. She isn't really sure if she is glad that she has discovered another piece of the puzzle that is the Doctor or if she wishes she had never known that the Doctor knows when she's horny. It's a thought best left for later.

"So… what exactly does this mean? I mean, is it a dangerous alien plot or… what?"

He shrugs, his grin half formed. "No idea. Come on, let's get something to eat. I'm starving."

/-

"How long have you known Rose?"

"Known her? Oh… year and a half now."

"Is that all?"

"Feels like much longer," the Doctor flashes a grin at Devyn, the man nodding understandingly, as the two let the table sink into the soft grass. The Doctor straightens his side before following Devyn back towards the house where stacks of chairs wait to be set up for the congregation.

"And how long ago were you married?"

"Oh," the Doctor sighs out the breath he had intended to use for his words before looking over at Devyn, "Three weeks now."

"Mmm," Devyn smiles soundly, nodding almost empathetically. "Those are the hardest. It's getting easier though, yeah?"

"Easier?"

"To be around her. You know, the urges."

The Doctor blinks at the chairs in his hands before nodding, hoping that his eyes haven't betray his confusion. "Yeah it's certainly… better."

"I remember when Odella and I first married. The following night was… much more intense than I was prepared for. Those first weeks I couldn't bare to be with Odella in public for fear that I would be inappropriate. But it gets much better, as I'm sure you're seeing."

"Right."

"Once Odella carried our first son, they left completely, returning slowly after his birth. Although I do not think that the urges have ever become as intense as they were before our son."

"Hmm… good to know."

Devyn smiles over at the Doctor as the two organize the second wave of chairs. "Don't look so worried. The urges are quite… enjoyable, yeah?" There's a Captain Jack quality to his words and the smirk plastered over his face and the Doctor can only chuckle nervously in return. A few things are slowly clicking into place.

/-


	4. Sample Analysis

_Author's Note: _I'm officially in university now! :jumps up and down: Sorry, excited that that particular headache is over with.

Anyway, on with the story... Enjoy!

/-/-

She looks beautiful- no, gorgeous… no, delightful, wonderful, fantastic- no still doesn't fit the teeth… exquisite. Yes, she looks exquisite in the traditional dress of the planet. A gown that leaves her shapely arms bare to his eyes and extenuates the curve of her delicate skin where neck becomes shoulder. And her hair pulled back like that- he didn't even know her hair could do that after all it's years being tossed into the messy buns he likes- which expose the arch of her neck where he wishes he could-

"Hey."

"Hey… how's the food coming?"

Rose shrugs, smiling wildly, "No idea. I'm just kind of mixing and pouring whatever they tell me to. How is setting up the chairs going?"

"It was long and repetitive," he replies, watching Rose turn away from him, ears still turned to listen to him, as she pours out two goblets of the sweet drink that is quickly growing on him. "But I did learn- thanks- a few interesting facts from Devyn."

"Oh really? Like what?"

"Not really sure what I learned, but it's something."

"Okay…"

"Devyn was asking me about the urges which-"

It tastes off.

His lips pucker and he swallows awkwardly. He stares down into the goblet of red liquid; it is the same thing he has been drinking. The gold rim presses against his lips, spilling a large gulp into his mouth. His tongue plays along his teeth, his lips smacking as he tries to analyze the taste.

"Doctor?"

"Huh…"

"What is it?"

"One second." The other women are deeply involved in their cooking and their gossiping but, even so, the Doctor places his goblet on the table and takes Rose's elbow, his mind easily dismissing the way her hot skin burns his cold hand, as he pulls her into the relative privacy of the food cupboard.

"Doctor, what-?"

His tongue snakes out, running up along the curve of her clavicle, stopping just at the base of her neck.

Too long for a sample to analyze. But he tries to quell his mind. He needs to be sure, he tries to explain away. She is just surprised, that's why she is breathing so fast. The planet is naturally hotter than they were used to, that's why his hand is boiling against her skin. Her eyes are brown, they've always been that dark. He doesn't want to repeat his actions, he just needs to be absolutely certain he is right.

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth and his feet force him to move away. He looks up at the ceiling, hoping that he won't notice her, that she won't notice him.

And then he has it. The taste. Beneath the human taste of salt and the sultry taste of Rose and time, there is something foreign and it's identical to the odd taste in his drink.

"Doctor?" If her voice shakes, it isn't because of him.

"You're practically exuding hormones," he tries to say playful, but it comes out funny. He won't say sexily, because it isn't.

"What?"

"Those hormones that I can smell coming off these people- it's in the food and the drinks, it must be. I knew it, their bodies couldn't possibly produce that much on their own. They're ingesting it. But why? It is naturally occurring? Do they add it on purpose? And, if they do, what's the point? Or is it something else? Someone else? But still, what do they do? Hormones? Think it might have something to do with the urges Devyn was talking about? Rose? Are you listening to me?"

"What?"

"You were completely zoning there."

"Sorry. Did you say something important?"

His head bobs back and forth as he struggles to remember what his rant was about. And it isn't because her lips are parted and her eyes are dark and the rise and fall of her silk of her dress is distracting him. It is just because his mind is racing twenty steps forward.

"Just hypothesising."

/-/-

Lynan is absolutely stunning- at least Rose thinks so. In her earth coloured gown, much like the one Rose herself is wearing but more elegant, richer and more detailed. Flowers adorn her curled and braided hair and orange jewels hang just over her eyes off her silver head piece.

So far an Azalean wedding is quite different from an Earth one. Or, at least the ones she has been to.

Spouses have been separated from each other, which means that the Doctor is somewhere on the other side of the expansive garden and she hasn't seen him in almost two hours.

Which shouldn't have been a problem. She should have been able to enjoy watching Lynan practically float into the gardens without thinking about him. She should have been able to melt at the sight of Gaderian's captivated smile as he watches Lynan approach him without imagining a similar look on the Doctor's face.

Lynan stops just a foot away from her soon-to-be husband and, without touching, they smile at each other and turn to walk the final steps to the priest- or what Rose assumes to be the priest. Even that exchange drifts her thoughts away from the wedding and back to the Doctor. She wonders at such an expressive society and their lack of physical contact and she wonders at such a physical relationship with the Doctor and a lack of expressive emotions.

And the simple thought of physical relationship pushes her mind further into where it shouldn't be going. She wonders just how human the Doctor is. Sure, he has given her the lecture before about humans not being the sole ownership of this form, that it exists throughout the universe in many similar forms. She has resisted asking if that means he has all the 'bits' that a human male has. But now… now she is really wondering. Wondering just how compatible they are. If they are compatible. What it would feel like, his cold skin on hers, his curious hands running over her, his talented tongue working its magic over her skin, trailing lower, searching…

The priest is talking. She's pretty sure that is what splashed the proverbial cold water in her face.

She listens, captivated by the ancient language that spills from his lips, untranslated by the TARDIS but its meaning universal enough not to need to be.

The family and the priest and the soon-to-be husband and wife gesture and respond in ways she doesn't understand and the priest takes great care in the way he prepares a slip of golden silk in a series of waters and oils.

She feel strange. Well not strange, unfocused in a way she hasn't been since… well, since she last lusted over Mickey. With the Doctor, she has never been like that. Oh, she looks. She might never admit it to him- except under duress by Cassandra- but she will admit it to herself. What can she say, he had regenerated into a sexy, younger man with the most ruffable hair she has ever seen.

And how she would love to run her fingers through his messy hair, flattening it and messing it back up and feeling just how soft or coarse it might be.

Gaderian's hand reaches out, palm up, his smile eager in the way only a newly wed can manage. Lynan smiles back nervously before her palm melds against his, her fingers twining with his. The priest speaks again, deliberately wrapping their hands together in a loose knot with the golden silk he has prepared, but they aren't looking at him.

The Doctor looks at her like that sometimes. When he thinks she can't see him, but she does. She knows. He looks just as much as she does. He likes what he sees too.

She isn't really sure when the wedding officially ends and when everyone begins rising and following the happy couple from the gardens and back into the main hall. Her mind is too absorbed in itself to do anything more than let her body respond. She rises with the rest, moves with the mass, sways to the music and picks at the food she had helped to prepare earlier.

She needs to find him. Not to escape the boredom that they have caused by separating them and not to see if she can embarrass him into dancing.

Actually, she hopes she can seduce him into dancing.

Oh, wow, where did that come from?

/-


	5. Dancing

_Author's Note: _Finally, the chapter that steps up the UST to a whole new level! Enjoy!

/-/-

She's seen that look hundreds of times. It's the one that says his eyes aren't seeing and his thoughts are far away, swirling around concepts and ideas she can't hope to keep up with.

He's standing off in the corner, shielding his body from the crowd, nursing a goblet of the sweet red drink. For a while, she debates on whether or not to interrupt him.

She makes her decision and her hand reaches out and grazes over his arm, pulling his attention outward. Just touching his arm, so natural and common a gesture, sends a tremor of desire down her spine.

"I figured it out."

He's smiling so widely, his eyes so clear and focused on her, that she can't help but grin back despite having no idea what he's talking about.

"The hormone is stimulated by tactile contact. The joining of hands during a wedding ceremony triggers the hormones, forms a DNA link between the two, and spikes the sex drive. For a couple of weeks at least- or so Devyn implied. Anyway, it's brilliant! Keeps sex under control, keeps birth rates under control. Everyone's happy."

And then he does the 'I'm so impressive' grin and she nearly falls apart right there. Rose is quite positive that he's the sexiest thing alive at that moment.

Her tongue rolls out, wetting her lips and she smiles when his smugness falters and his eyes watch her, almost hungrily. So she does it again, taking just a little bit longer, torturing him just a little bit more, and she is rewarded with a haggard exhale and a tightened jaw.

"Just one problem," she breathes and his eyes flicker up to find hers.

"Hmm?"

"We've both ingested the hormone. We're infected. And we're quite…" She debates saying it, just for a moment, before finishing with, "tactile," letting the word roll around her tongue. His eyes didn't change and not a single muscle in his face twitches, but she can see the reaction. Subtle, so subtle the way his breath trips over itself and his second ramble halts on muted lips.

He looks away, searching through the crowds as he nods. "Yes, well… we unfortunately can't leave."

"Why not?"

"It's considered extremely rude of a guest to leave after the sun sets. We'll have to stay the night."

"Okay," she says, but she wants to say no. To say to hell with the culture's rules, she needs to get out of there. She needs to flush the hormones from her system before she does something embarrassing. Because she is close, so very close to doing just that. To giving in to all the thoughts and desires swimming through her mind.

And, briefly, so very briefly, she sees the same flash through his eyes. The need- the need for her, the need to escape, the need to protect her from him.

But then it's gone and he's nodding. "Kay, good. Em… well…"

"Yeah," she sighs, glancing over her shoulder at the mass gathering in the centre of the room, swaying to the music. She doesn't want to leave him, she isn't in the mood for dancing- not like that- but she has found throughout the day that it's easier- not by much, but enough- to be away from him. As long as she can pretend that he isn't around, she can pretend that her every thought isn't about him.

And that's why she tells him she wants to dance. That's why he shoos her away to have fun. That's why she gently pushes her way through the throngs and dances away just a fraction of her frustrations. That's why he remains in the corner, holding the still full goblet, watching the dancers and waiting for morning.

/-/-

He can't stop thinking about her. He has watched her for hours as the party sways and rocks to the erotic rhythm of the deep drums and lyrical stringed instruments.

He wants her. It isn't something that he has ever thought he would say about a companion, but there he is, lusting over her, thinking about her, wanting to walk up to her, needing to pull her away from the crowd.

He's had to stop himself more than once. He still can't quite figure out where the control is coming from, but there it is, strong in the back of his mind, forcing him to resist. To resist the hold of the hormones surging through his system. To resist the dormant desire, the one just barely noticed beneath the surface but is so acutely there.

He can see her coming through the open window in their shared room, where he had retreated when the control had begun to slip. It has actually been easier, just a little, not to be able to see her. The urges and temptations have died down enough to get him back to the room without turning round and finding her again. But once he was in the room, once the memories of sharing the small bed struggled forward, once the scent of her assaulted his scenes, the urges all came rushing back, and somehow they are more painful without her there.

But now she's coming back. The moonlight glitters against her skin, highlighting the soft sheen of perspiration, a mixture of exertion and arousal. And, oh, he can smell her arousal even from inside the room. She wants him just as badly as he needs her. A primal growl threatens to burst through his throat, but he swallows it down, trying not to think about how thoughts of him alone have brought her to the state she's in. That the thought of him alone have hooded her dark eyes and parted her gasping lips, made her heart pound against her ribcage.

His own hearts are humming, beating faster than the human ear can discern, when she steps through the door. She just stands there, just far enough inside the room to let the door swing shut behind her.

There are things he thinks he should be saying, explaining. The reason why they can't just leave, but somewhere in his mind he's pretty sure that he has already done that.

He isn't human, she isn't Gallifreyan. The hormones are affecting the natural way of things for him. They aren't really compatible. Well, close enough. No… not close enough. He can't really remember anymore. Not that he really knows.

She's Rose and he's the Doctor, and at one time his mind has known what that's supposed to mean but he can't remember the reasoning behind it any more.

Instead he says nothing as she walks slowly, so slowly with short, purposeful steps- or maybe hesitant steps, each one growing just a bit more confident every time he doesn't protest.

He just continues to sit there, watching her. Waiting for her. Waiting for his non-stop gab to kick in and stop her before she reaches him.

But it doesn't and she does. Her hips are leaning against his knees and he resists- somehow his body resists spreading his legs to let her step even closer. Her hands find his hair and his eyes flutter half-closed, watching her as she oh so gently discovers the feel of his hair between her fingers.

Then, once she's had her fill of playing through his hair, her hands wander down his face, skimming over his sideburns, grazing along his cheeks, to settle near his temples. He tries to force back the groan building in his throat but he only manages to distort it, and a strangled whimper passes his lips instead as he leans into her touch. She strokes harder, massaging his temples with her fingers.

He needs to stop her, he vaguely recalls that need, and yet it's just as much a surprise to him as it is to her when his hands shoot up and take hers, pulling them away from his face. He catches her eyes, finding them dark and hungry, but just as conflicted. She's trying so hard to fight it, but he knows that she just wants to let go, to stop resisting.

"Rose," he reaches out to her, pulling her face closer to his, resting her forehead against his. Her breathes are coming out in huffs, tickling his cheek and loosening his mind's grip on control. His fingers play through her hair, his thumbs graze over her jaw. When she leans into his touch, he nearly forgets himself. Two fingers stroke her temple, his eyes flutter half closed, and he's so close to touching her mind, to inviting himself in one of the most intimate ways possible.

He snatches his hands back and, gently, he pushes her away so he can stand. One hand runs through his messy hair and the other shoves itself into his trousers pocket as his feet pace him half way across the room before turning around to look at her.

"Em… we'll leave in the morning then. I'll, em… I'll be in the library probably… Good night."

He shuts the door behind himself but doesn't move. He just leans against the cool wood, his ear digging into the grains, his eyes shutting tight as he struggles to breathe, to move, to live.

Then he hears it. Hears her moving. Hears the sounds of silky material sliding away from her body. Hears clothing rustling as the nightgown settles over her figure, hears her turn down the covers and lay down. Rassilon, he wishes that he could slide into the bed next to her.

He can hear her breathing; it's more like panting, ragged gasps of breath and uncontrolled sighs of release.

And then she moans, the sound echoes in the back of his throat and he twists against the door, fighting the urge to step inside. He can almost see her, her hand sliding over burning flesh, travelling lower than he's seen before, slipping just under the band of her knickers. He's never seen a human exposed like that, but he can imagine what she might look like, pale skin and burning like the rest of her human body.

His eyes squeeze shut and his jaw grows slacker. He can imagine her biting down on her bottom lip, trying to quiet herself. He can see her arching into her own warm fingers, sighing in relieve at the contact. He sighs with her, groans even at the thought of him replacing those dainty fingers.

He wonders at just what a human female needs to bring herself to release. It's something a Gallifreyan can't do, something he's truly regretting for the first time in his life.

He wonders if it's the mental stimulation- the scenario she's built up in her mind, the one that maybe imagines him walking back into the room, stroking her, touching her, entering her.

He wonders if it's the contact, skin on skin, the friction of movement, that her own hands and fingers are providing for her.

He wonders if there's something about humans that's completely different from Gallifreyans, something he doesn't know about. They aren't telepathic, he knows that aspect is different. He wonders what it would feel like, touch but nothing beyond it.

Her breathes are coming even faster now and her sluggish heart is pounding faster than he has ever heard before. Strangled moans and gasps are tearing through her throat and he echoes her, pushing his hips into the door in response.

He can hear when it happens. When her body tenses and the final groan parts her gorgeous, pouty lips, and pleasure surges throughout her body. When she relaxes back into the bed, gathering the sheets around herself and creating another body with the spare pillow by her head. When her desperate pants for air slowly calm and her racing heart returns to its slow pace.

He rocks into the door once more, wishing his physiology had the same ability as humans to relieve itself. But it doesn't and he forces himself to calm down, to move his mind away from the sights it has just invented. He makes his lungs take deep, filling breathes, and forces his hearts to slow just a notch. His body responds, calming the traces of his arousal, before he moves, before he shifts his weight and pushes off the door, blinking his eyes to focus them on the unknown garden, and walk away.

/-

... :runs and hides:


	6. Breaking Point

_Author__'__s Note: _This one is really short, more just to wet the appetite, but don't worry, the next one will be up tomorrow night.

/-/-

It's a slow, gentle pressure that clears the fog of sleep from her slumbering mind. She sighs, nuzzling into the soothing sensation. It's stroking, long delicate fingers cooling her cheek and temple.

Then it stops. A whimper slips past her groggy lips and her tired eyes blink open. Light assaults her eyes but she doesn't bury her head into the pillow as she would have liked to and instead searches the hazy confines of her room.

He's there this time. His back is to her, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes staring out the large window looking out into the garden.

"Doctor," she wishes he would look at her.

"I let our hosts know that we're leaving. Breakfast should be ready by now. You can say your goodbyes. I'll meet you in the main hall."

And then he retreats, leaving her tangled and needing. God, he was only there for a matter of minutes, enough to let her half-asleep mind begin wandering, dreaming and fantasizing.

It was like last night, when the mere thought of him sent desire sweeping around her belly, twining around her chest on its way to flood her mind until she couldn't breathe and couldn't think of anything but him- of the feel of his cool hand in hers, his fingers playing through her hair, his strong arms holding her, his hearts humming in an unnaturally soothing rhythm. It leads her mind away from the realities of him and focuses her on the fantasies, on the singular experience of an abrupt closed mouthed kiss, to the shy memories of removing his clothing on Christmas night, to the curious hypothesises that have been racing through her mind as to just how humanlike the Doctor is.

Pulling jeans on over hyperactive skin and grazing her hands over flat stomach to smooth out the wrinkled t-shirt, she heads for breakfast.

He's waiting for her when she makes her way out the dinning hall. He hardly looks at her, just tightens his jaw and tilts his head to the side, inviting her to walk out the door in front of him.

There's nothing in his eyes. None of the tension and desire and lust and uncontrolled hormones that are tearing through her system. But there's also none of the Doctor in his eyes. No spark, no life, no boundless knowledge and childish enthusiasm. His eyes just are. His face is simply that. No window, no clues to what's on his mind and in his heart.

She wonders whether the hormones are affecting him at all, if maybe his Gallifreyan mind is able to stifle their affects, to think clearly and force his mind to stay on the task of fixing them. But no, she knows better than that. She knows he is just as tempted, egged on and encouraged by the hormones' influence.

He doesn't take her hand when the sun hits their faces and he leads her away from the lush grounds and elaborate mansion. He doesn't talk to her, not even after ten minutes of walking in heavy silence. He doesn't look at her as they finally reach the main street. She just follows, keeping her focus on the ground pounding beneath her feet and the air flowing past her nose and lips and the tension growing in the pit of her stomach.

The TARDIS is growing closer.

Twenty feet.

She can do it. She can make it there without pulling him to her and snogging him.

Fifteen feet.

Her fingernails dig into the flesh of her palm as she tries to ignore the impulse to reach out to him.

Ten feet.

She can't do it. Not if she can't touch him.

Five feet.

She feels like she's burning. Like her skin's on fire and her chest's heaving for breath and if he doesn't touch her, throw her against the TARDIS door and ravish her, she might die.

Four feet.

She's practically running.

Two feet.

He's already at the door, hands shaking to get the key in the lock.

One foot.

She's going to kiss him.

But then his shoulder's pushing the door opened and he presses inside without her. She follows slamming her forehead against the cool wood of the door.

"Are you okay, Rose?"

"No."

His fingers graze the material of her hoodie, pulling back before she can lean into him. "I can't hear you."

She doesn't want to look at him. She doesn't want to turn and see his bedroom brown eyes or his kissable pouty lips or his tantalizing ruffable hair. But she has to move, the energy's shaking throughout her body, buzzing in her ears and weakening her knees. So she twists round, pushing her back against the door and keeping her eyes on the grated floor. She can still see his shoes.

"No, I'm not okay! I'm… shaking and hot and I… I need you… I need you to leave or to shag me or do something! Anything before I can't breathe any more!"

/-/-


	7. Kissing and Telepathic Tongues

_Author__'__s Note_: All right, finally the chapter you've all been waiting for. First, I'd like to thank Rallalon who gave me permission to steal her idea for the Doctor's genitalia. Most of his anatomy is Rallalon's idea, which you can check out in 'Scratching the Itch' and 'Non-Linear Love Story', both of which I highly recommend. (Not right now

/-/-

She doesn't want to look at him. She doesn't want to turn and see his bedroom brown eyes or his kissable pouty lips or his tantalizingly ruffable hair. But she has to move, the energy's shaking throughout her body, buzzing in her ears and weakening her knees. So she twists round, pushing her back against the door and keeping her eyes on the grated floor. She can still see his shoes.

"No, I'm not okay! I'm… shaking and hot and I… I need you… I need you to leave or to shag me or do something! Anything before I can't breathe any more!"

He wants to step closer to her. The urge to hold her to him, to soothe her need…

But he doesn't want to step any closer, doesn't want to corner her, doesn't want to frighten her. So he forces air into his lungs and steps away from her. "I'm going to go into the med lab and run some tests. I need you to come with me so I can analyze your blood."

She closed her eyes and her chest is heaving and he's almost certain that she doesn't know what he just said, so he steps closer, "Rose," his voice is low, so low that she doesn't hear him over her pounding heart, "Rose," he grabs her arm, "look at me."

Her eyes snap open. Her arm wrenches itself from his hold. "Don't touch me!"

"I'm sorry." His hands come up and he backs away from her. "Please, let's go to the med lab, we'll figure out how to stop this."

"What if we can't?"

"There's a way."

"What if there isn't?"

"It's just hormones." He's trying to stay calm, trying to remain the rational one, but she's growing more hysterical in her hormonal rage, pacing around the console, and he wishes he could join her, stop thinking and succumb to the itch threatening to overwhelm him. But he can't. He needs to stay calm. He needs to help her.

"There's a way to equalize our hormone levels, I just need to analyze what hormone is wrecking havoc with our systems. If nothing else, now that we're no longer ingesting it, the levels should equal out on their own."

"Yeah, and how long's that going to take?"

"I don't know. I don't know how much is in our systems or how fast we're metabolizing it. That's why we need to go to the med lab."

She's still not listening to him. He can see it, in her eyes, the insane hunger that she just can't control any longer. She's getting closer, one tantalizing step after another. He doesn't know what to do, other than to take one step backwards for every step forwards she takes. But he doesn't have many of them before his legs hit the railing and he's trapped in her gaze.

"Or maybe, we just need to give in to it. Let the hormones run their course."

He can feel her warm breath against his lips now. Her eyes aren't on his; they're staring at his lips, watching with dark desire at every nervous breath that parts them. She's so close that he can feel her heaving breasts, just inches from his chest, so close to brushing against his.

"You want to have sex?"

"Well that's one way to woo a girl."

"I don't want to woe you. Rose, you need to calm down. We need to go to the med lab-"

"I don't want to go to the med lab." Her words soft and deliberate, her lips forming each word carefully as she steps closer and closer.

He pushes her away, needing the distance. "Rose, stop."

Her tongue rolls over her lips and he hates himself for watching. "Are you embarrassed, Doctor? Or is it that we don't fit? I mean, you look pretty Human, except for the two hearts and everything. But… just how Human are you?" She's so close that she could just press forward, just a little, just enough that her hips graze his and she can feel just how much they do fit.

He should say something- something to dissuade her- but he can't think of anything other than, "Time Lords and Humans have the same basic design."

Her tongue peaks out again, wetting her lips just to taunt him, just to watch his reaction again. "So… does that mean Time Lords have sex the same way Humans do?"

He wishes that she wasn't pressing her hips into his now. He wishes that his thin control wasn't rapidly falling apart. He wishes that they were just having a normal moment of banter so that he could tease her but he can't, because he can't think anymore. "How should I know? I've never had sex with a Human before."

"Never?"

Her surprise seems to have cleared her eyes just enough to calm him so that he can say, "What? You think that little of me? I pop around all of time and space looking for the best shag?"

Then the mood is gone. She's collapsing into a fit of giggles and he's able to forget how close they are because he knows what she's picturing- him in his pinstriped suit or maybe the brooding version of him in his leather jacket, swaggering about with Captain Jack's smile. "No," her breath shakes as she tries to breathe normally again, "It's just that you're a curious, outgoing person who's had a lot of Human companions travelling with you. Just makes sense that you'd have… I don't know, experimented. Investigated. Something."

"Nope. Never. Sorry to disappoint."

"But aren't you curious?"

"No."

"Oh, come off it. Don't Time Lords ever have sex?"

He laughs at that, out right snorting in indignation at her question. "Of course we do. For reproduction purposes."

"Just reproduction? What about… enjoyment?"

"You know, Humans are one of the very few races that have sex for pleasure. On Earth, it's just you Humans and dolphins that engage in such frivolously."

"You have had sex before, right?"

"Yes, a long time ago."

"You want me," she rolls her hips against him on purpose, rubbing against the bulge growing. He barely catches the moan, but bites his lips in time to hide it from her.

It's a battle to keep his hips still, to control instinct and grind back against her. The foreign hormones are raging through his system, closing up his lungs and speeding his heart to a rate he's never felt before.

But his mind finally prevails and somewhere he finds the sanity to push her away from him and pull her with him to the med lab.

He realizes a bit too late the suggestiveness of his actions when he lifts her by the hips and sets her on the bed. Her legs spread on impulse for him and she pulls him closer. Without thinking, his face dips to nuzzle her neck, to breathe in her human scent. Her hands are in his hair and he never wants her to stop.

"Do you want me?" She's so nervous, suddenly. The boldness of her earlier rage is forgotten and now she's just a scared, young human, craving him, needing him.

All he can be is honest. "Badly."

And that's why he pulls away, running a tempted hand through his hair and searching through his equipment longer than he really needed to.

Gently, he takes her wrist in his hand, slowly running his fingers over her skin. He shapes her hand into a fist before extending her pointer finger and holding the thin device over the tip.

"Ouch," her first reaction is to pull away from the prick, but his strong grip keeps her still. He catches her eye, apologizing in one look for not warning her. And then her lungs stop working because he's bringing her throbbing finger to his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digit before sucking on it, cooling away the pain.

"So," she leans closer, her eyes impossibly dark with hunger, "How do Time Lords have sex?"

A teasing smirk is growing on his face and in his eyes as his voice becomes deep and playful, "How do Humans have sex?"

"Wanna find out?" Her eyes are just as teasing and her smile stretches open to let her tongue poke out.

She looses sight of his eyes as his cheek scraps against hers, his lips finding her ear, "And how would I do that?"

"Hmm…" He decides right then that he likes the way the sound resonates in her throat, "Well," her hands stray over his stomach and up over his shoulders. His breath flutters over her lips in uneven waves. She pushes him back, enough to let her fingers reach out to caress his grainy check, curiously mapping out the new stubble poking through. "You do have a Human travelling with you."

"True."

"Would you like to find out?"

His lips press into a thin line, his lungs forcing in a deep breath, before a soft, almost pained "mmm" vibrates in the back of his throat. He hates to admit that he just whimpered, but her lips curl into a coy smile and she leans forward with the boldness awarded from an affirmative answer.

Her right hand rests on his chest, using it to steady herself as she moves even closer. Her lips press on the side of his. He's still, not touching her, not sure what to do, not wanting to loose that thin tendril of control he's clinging to. Then her closed lips press against his and he stops thinking.

He's still not sure what to do, where to put his hands or how to react to her lips. But just as he begins to figure out what to do, she pulls away. Pink tongue rolls over her dry lips and then she's pressing her lips to his again, gently sucking on his top lip. He's sluggish in his responses, still not entirely sure what she's doing or how he's supposed to respond, not sure what comes next.

Her hands runs over his shoulder and rests it on his cheek. The heel of her hand nudges his chin down and he opens his mouth for her, not sure what she expects or what might happen. She's kissing him again, and this time he figures out how to move his lips against hers. She sighs encouragingly, or at least he thinks she does. Her palm slides along his cheek, burrowing into his hair, and once again he's glad he has nice hair this time round.

And then her tongue grazes over his bottom lip before entering his mouth. It surprises him. She's changing the rules he's just beginning to figure out but he tries to react against the unexpected intrusion. His mind is spinning, working overtime in a desperate attempt to understand what her tongue is doing. It's running over his teeth and tongue and lips, mapping out his mouth, and then he gets it. His hand curls around her neck and it tangles in her hair, pulling her closer. Eagerly, his tongue begins moving against hers, dipping it into her mouth and running it along her teeth and lips.

Rose gently pushes at his shoulder, forcing him to break the kiss. Her lungs are shuddering in the attempt to take in enough air. He waits patiently as she leans her forehead against his, desperately catching her breath before teasing, "I don't have a respiratory by-pass system, remember? I do need to breathe now and then."

"Right. Sorry." She chuckles softly, her thumb stroking his jaw. "We don't do that."

"What? Kiss?" He nods against her forehead. "What do you do then?"

His one hand untangles from her hair and she worries for a moment that he's going to pull away and stop them again, return them to sanity. But, instead, both his hands cup her cheeks. The tip of his nose grazes over hers and his cool fingers split to wrap around her ears, applying a light pressure to her temples. She gasps mostly in surprise at the unexpected sensation, but there's a spark of pleasure, enough to make her lean into his touch, wanting more.

Rose has absolutely no idea what he's doing, but as his fingers trail down along the sides of her face, a tingling follows. It's like a gentle electricity is being emitted from the tips of his fingers, or at least that's the best way she can think to explain it. No matter what it is, it's intoxicating and completely overwhelming.

There are only three sounds in the universe that she can hear- the gentle hum of the TARDIS that always surrounds her, the steady puffs of air passing over the Doctor's lips, and the pounding of her pulse in her ears. She lets her eyes flutter closed, focusing on the erratic rhythm of her heart and the indescribable sensations of his fingers brushing along her jaw.

Her breath hitches in her throat when his lips descend on her eyelids. His fingers continue to travel around her face- under her eyes, along her forehead, grazing the shell of her ears. Then he finds the dip beneath her jaw with his nose, nuzzling it, his nose following the ghost of a trail left by his soft lips down the delicate skin of her throat, only stopping when he reaches cloth.

Her face is burning and she knows that her cheeks must be horribly flushed. But she can't bring herself to care as long as he's doing whatever it is that he's doing to make her feel so… something. So aroused? So dazed? So unbelievably out of breath?

But then it stops. She nearly whimpers at the loss of the tingling sting that has been coming off his hands. Her eyes flutter open to find him watching her, his eyes hooded and dark.

"Whoa," comes out in a half-pant, half-sigh. "What was that?"

"Telepathic touch."

"Right," she breathes out.

"Hmm… Could make for a very interesting combination kissing and telepathy… Telepathic tongue?" His mouth is playing with the words, forming them in exaggerated movements of his lips and tongue, his tone coming off playful but she can see the hunger in his eyes. She isn't listening to the words spilling from his mouth; her mind is already racing ahead, imagining just how good that tongue will be at other things, telepathic or not. Preferably telepathic.

He's smiling at her, his eyes nearly black and burning for her, and his fingers playing with her golden locks. She can't ignore the ache growing between her legs. She needs him. Badly.

She leans forward, her hands combing through his hair and pulling his mouth to hers. She never doubted that he's a fast learning- in fact, all evidence tells her just that- and he's proving it once again as his lips move with hers and his hand tilts her face back, changing the angle so that he can take control. She moves her hands along his sides, wrapping her hands around his back, pulling him between her legs once again, sighing in relief as the rub of material pushes against her throbbing centre.

She isn't sure when his hands had come to hold her hips and she really doesn't care because her shirt has ridden up and his hands have snaked underneath, the skin on skin contact creating the same electrical prickling and she gasps into his mouth.

He shifts back, breaking the kiss. A strangled noise complains in the back of her throat and she tries to lean back into him, but he stops her, his hand reaching up and caressing her cheek, bringing her forehead to rest against his.

"Rose…" A shudder runs down her spine at the sound of her name- a deep, throaty moan. "We need to stop."

Disappointment flares in her, fear colouring the edges, thinking that he doesn't want her. But coherence hangs by the threads at the edge of her consciousness and she knows that it's something else. Something that they're supposed to be doing. She just can't quite remember what that is.

She finds his gaze. His eyes are black, his pupils so dilated that there's only a rim of brown remaining around the edges. Her hands slide up along his back and over his shoulders, her fingertips coming to rest on his two pulse points. His hearts are beating wildly out of sync.

"Is that what you want?"

"It's not about what I want. Wellll… it's what I want. Primal instincts and all, but not what I really should be doing."

"Is that all this is then? Primal instincts?" She grinds against his growing erection, loving the way his eyes roll back and the heat pooling between her legs grows increasingly painful at the sight before her: a messy-haired Doctor, his eyes hooded and his swollen lips parted to release the groan caught in his throat.

"Rose…"

She stops him by pressing her lips against his hungrily, holding the sides of his face to keep him there. He has more to say, to convince her to stop. He's tense against her. That's why she digs her fingers deeper into his hair and thrusts her tongue against his, rocking her hips into him to get him to play along. He stops resisting. His hands push her shirt out of their way, body screaming for more contact. She arches against him, shivering against the combination of his cool palms and the electricity bursting between them and her spine.

She's desperate. Her body is humming for more. More of him beneath her. More of the electricity vibrating over her skin.

Her hands fist the front of his jacket, forcing it over his shoulders, but he's not cooperating, his hands refusing to let go of her waist. She gives up on that, and fingers his tie. Fantasies about that tie have plagued her thoughts ever since that Christmas night, but she's too impatient now to think of them. She pushes it out of her way, groaning out a sigh of frustration when her trembling fingers make it harder to force the tiny buttons from their restraints. The tails of his shirt are half out of his trousers when her hands slip under his open shirt. Finally, more of the sparks prickle her hands. She sighs into him.

His stomach is lean and wiry, just as she knew it would be. He's not particularly muscular and his ribcage pokes gently though his skin; it's different than a Human's, probably to protect his second heart.

Her hands slide up his chest, rolling over his shoulders, pushing him back. He drops his hands to her hips as she leans back away from him and reaches down to grab the sides of her shirt and pull it over her head, throwing it somewhere forgotten on the floor.

She likes the way he drinks her in. Her muscles twitch in surprised delight as he strokes her belly with slow, deliberate fingers. He takes his time before letting his palms graze along her sides and clothed breasts before reaching behind her. She smiles at the sight of such intense concentration that he reserves for TARDIS repairs focused on her. She plays with his hair, surprised at the lack of gel. A soft grin of victory spreads over his face and she thinks it's cute how excited he is when he conquers her bra.

His hands return to her, gently stroking her breasts, grazing over her nipples and softly squeezing the lush mounds of flesh. Rose wants to see him, to know that she is causing the look of desire reflecting in his eyes. She wants to watch as he trains his full concentration on her. But it's all too much for her. Every contour of his hands burn her with a painful desire and closing her eyes against the onslaught is her only defence against the sensory overload.

So she does just that; she lets her eyes drift closed and her head tilt back and focus solely on how good he feels. His lips are dry when he leans into her, burning a trail of fire along her jaw.

Between the sparks stimulating her nipples to a near painful point and his tongue tasting the skin on her neck and the forgotten ache burning between her legs, she's certain that she might die right then and there in his arms. His lips have latched onto her breasts, his hot breath warming the cooled skin, a tantalizing change of temperature. Her mouth falls into a soft 'O' and air rushes out of her lungs in a harsh, breathless moan.

Some how she remembers where they are and the thought occurs in some distant part of her brain that the med lab bed is probably not the most comfortable place in the TARDIS to be doing this. She strokes his hair on her way down to his shoulders. With a strangled moan is his only form of protest when she forces his lips away from her breasts. She kisses him once, shortly, before pulling away, pushing against his chest and forcing him to move away just enough to allow her to stand. She thinks that she saw his lips part in a whimper, but the blood is pounding so loudly in her ears that she can't tell. She reaches out her hand to him and he takes it without hesitation, letting her tug him towards the door.

They don't touch as they walk through the halls, except for their clasped hands. It isn't until Rose has pushed her way through her door that she forces his jacket and shirt from his arms and he awkwardly kicks off his trainers. Her arms hook around his neck, pulling skin against skin to create more of that wonderful electricity. He tilts his head down to meet her lips. His hands are splayed over her hips, pulling her closer as he lets her tongue into his mouth. He bends his knees, changing the angle of the kiss and taking control, directing the movement of their lips and tongues, prolonging the kiss until she's gasping for breath.

Even as her lungs battle for breath, her mind screams for more. More contact. More kissing. More him.

She's pulling at his belt buckle, fumbling with the zipper, pushing his trousers easily off his slim hips. She doesn't look down at him, her mouth currently locked with his in a battle of teeth and tongue. But she reaches for him, her hand mapping and discovering that the shape of him is perfect, long, and painfully erect.

He whispers into her kiss and falls into her touch. His breath sounds almost pained as he gasps out words the TARDIS doesn't translate. She grows bolder with his encouragements and wraps her hand around him. He's colder than a Human, but it's warmer than the rest of his body. His head tips back and she can't resist nibbling at the skin exposed to her. She runs her hand along his length. It's soft and smooth, almost silky- and then it isn't. Her hand returns to the base of his shaft and then explores the length of him again. A second texture. It's more velvety, rougher, almost like loose skin trying to catch her hand.

She doesn't have time to think about it because he's panting now, sweat forming on his brow from sheer concentration it's taking him to keep from bucking into her hand.

Now, oh please now, her body begs and she pushes him back until his knees hit the bed. He falls onto his elbows, shimmying back until she's left with the full sight of him- lean, naked body laid out over her bed.

Her hands are trembling as she tries to force open the button on her jeans. Finally she manages to get out of them, her knickers following soon after, ending up in a hasty pile of trainers and cloth.

His abs flex, lifting him into a sitting position, just as she gets onto the bed. He pulls her to him. Immediately she's overwhelmed by the rush of desire prickling every centimetre of skin touching his. A hum of pleasure radiates off her body and from her parted lips.

She shifts against him, straddling his legs. His erection is trapped between their bodies, gloriously cool against her burning stomach. His face buries into her neck as her magnificent fingers reach out to touch him again. Warm puffs of air play through her hair and cool fingers ghost along her spine.

She guides him to her entrance, running his head along her slick folds once, twice- a third time before she sinks down on him. He's much larger than she expected- harder and fuller and hitting every right spot. Her muscles clench around him and a strangled moan passes his lips in a whimper. He rocks up into her. Rocks, doesn't thrust, not yet. He's giving her time to get used to him. His hands travel along her sides, the warmth of the electricity burning a trail of sparks down her body. He holds her hips tightly as he grinds her into him. His lips part, air rushing up his throat. She kisses him, swallowing his moan.

The coiling tension is driving her as she begins to move. She raises up just enough to shift her weight, rocking her hips in figure eights. But she can't wait any longer.

Her hands shift from his neck onto his shoulders to help her shaking thighs lift her body. Then his second texture is rubbing against her. It's incredible. Almost too much when combined with the electricity scraping her breasts.

His reaction is quick, sudden. His grip is bruising her hips and he pulls her down, burying himself deep within her. One arm snakes around her waist and the other slides up her back, holding her tight against him.

He's panting into her hair; his hands are shaking as they hold her. He seems content to stay like that but her body is crying 'again, again'. She tried to move, but his grip prevents her. So she leans back, voicing her question by stroking his cheek. He doesn't answer. Just leans in and kisses her.

Then she feels it.

He flares inside of her; the tiny layers of skin that make up his second texture are quivering against her sensitive flesh. She cries out and buries her hands into his hair. Her body pulls away from the unfamiliar sensation, even as it delights in it. But his hands clamp down, holding her still.

It takes a while, pant after breathless pant, before she figures it out. It's like he magnified the tingling sensation between his skin and hers. Because now it's every where, tingling and sparking and setting her body on fire and burning it with ice. And she loves it. Relishes in it. Might easily become addicted to it. But then it's fading, shrinking to the back corner of her mind. She whimpers, mostly in protest. She wants it back, needs it back, and she senses he needs the same.

That's when he grinds against her. The movement is enough to rekindle the burning, an intensity almost mirroring the first but far more pleasurable. Then, just as the first, it tempers back into a frigid prickling. Guttural sounds rack her body, craving more. She buries her face into his neck, rocking into him.

No thrusting, apparently just grinding, but that's certainly enough. With every rock and grind and shift, the intensity mounts and remains longer, driving them higher and higher.

She can feel him stroking her every where. She's panting against his ear, kissing the soft flesh there. A tingle of pressure skims over her hip, another over her breasts, but it isn't his hands touching her. Somewhere in her muddled brain she realizes that it must be his abilities as a telepath that give him that liberty. She considers briefly asking him how to do it, wanting to reach out and touch him deeper. But she can barely breathe and she knows she isn't going to last much longer.

He nudges the side of her cheek with his nose, bringing his lips to her ear. A flick of his tongue clenches her muscles around him. He's babbling into her ear now, incoherent, melodious tones. It's gorgeous. She rolls her hips into him. A whimper halts his words. His hands loosen around her waist to wander over her slick skin. He rocks into her, making them gasp in tandem.

His lips pepper the side of her face with kisses. She turns her head, her lips seeking him hungrily. She leans back, strangled noises escape from the back of her throat; the change in angle brushing him against her neglected clit.

The electricity is building in her, winding throughout her body and coiling inside her belly until she's quivering around him. His strokes are becoming more urgent. The electricity magnifies as her muscles tremble, drawing out her orgasm. He climaxes after her, his body tensing beneath her, holding her tighter to him, as his cold fluid spreads inside her.

Softly his fingers drag over her back, caressing her as she absently runs her hands through his hair. His lungs shake, his breath tickling her ear just before he buries his face into her hair. His breath comes in soft pants from his opened mouth, mingling with the sound of hers as they both struggled to control their breathing.

His fingers wind through her hair, bringing the soft strands to his noise, breathing in her scent. "Are you okay?" He hums into her ear, "I never thought about how overwhelming that could be for a Human." She can't trust her voice. She just nods mutely against his cheek and runs her hands down his back.

"D'you think it worked?"

"Hmm?"

"Your idea? To give in to the impulses?"

She grunts, amusement tickling her lips as she pushes him back onto the bed. "Give me a minute. I'll let you know if I still want to shag you once I've rested."

It seemed so natural to curl around his body, to rest her head in his shoulder, to stroke the ribs protecting his right heart. He hesitates before his arm wrapped around her, holding her tight against him.

His fingers graze the still racing pulse along her wrist before taking her hand into his and bringing it to his lips. She watches him, even as his focus is on the curve of her palm, as his magnificent tongue trails languidly from her wrist to the tip of her index finger. God, his tongue is wonderful.

"Still have the hormone in your system. A bit more muted, but still there. Guess you were right?"

"Hmm," she agrees, raising on her elbows to smile up at him. His eyes grow darker just at the sight of her; it makes her braver. "So how many more goes do you think we need before it's gone?"

His eyebrows spring up but his disbelieving smirk keeps her from worrying. "Randy little thing you are."

She tries to shrug, but the action is awkward and instead she focuses on his chest. Her fingers run through the soft hair on his chest, gently taunting his silky nipple. "So that's how Time Lords have sex."

"Mmm. Besides the telepathy, how close was it?"

"Pretty close," she smiles at him, "but much better."

The corners of his lips twitch and, for a moment, she thinks that he's going to hold back his grin. But then he beams at her, arching his neck awkwardly to catch her lips with his. "Yes, I like the kissing…" She hums in response.

"See, now the real problem is that, while you have the experience to compare the two, I'm severely lacking in my knowledge of Human sexual escapades."

Her laughter comes in short bursts of air against his chest, before, "Oi! Now who's the randy one?" His smile is the picture of innocence but his dark eyes give away his wishful thoughts. "Of course we'd want to make this a proper experiment and all."

/-/-


	8. Human Sexual Escapades

_Author__'__s Note_: Since you all waited so long and so patiently, here's a bit more smut to make you happy. Once again, I'd like to thank Rallalon for the wonderful concept about Gallifreyan sex life, the telepathy is mine however.

/-/-

"See, now the real problem is that, while you have the experience to compare the two, I'm severely lacking in my knowledge of Human sexual escapades."

Her laughter comes in short bursts of air against his chest, before, "Oi! Now who's the randy one?" His smile is the picture of innocence but his dark eyes give away his wishful thoughts. "Of course we'd want to make this a proper experiment and all."

"Naturally. In the name of science."

"Of course," She laughs lightly against his chest, her one hand still roaming over the soft flesh of his nipple.

The electricity between his skin and hers is still there, which kind of surprises her. His hands sweep up and down her back and she nestles into him, relishing the content buzzing. "Mmm, that feels good. That telepathy thing."

"Hmm… you think?"

"Yeah, don't you?" She shifts a little against his hold to look up at him, "Wait, since I'm not telepathic, can you feel it?"

"Yeah, it works two ways." She smiles, happy with his answer, and lays her cheek back down on his chest. His fingers are moving absently now, tracing patterns that only he knows are Gallifreyan words.

He never meant to have a relationship with a companion- not one of the sexual kind- because that makes it complicated. Cultural difference, biological differences, age differences…

His biology eliminates any compulsion to have sex, eliminates any consideration of having sex with one of his companions. But, with Rose, sometimes he wishes that he was a Human. Sometimes he wishes that he could give her a normal life.

Sometimes he wishes he could pretend and right now his mind is muddled with enough lust and hormones and the smell of her that he thinks he just might. He presses his lips to her temple, because he's decided that he likes to, and whispers into her ear, "I want to make love to you like a Human."

She shifts again, finding his eyes. "No telepathy?"

She's pouting, her bottom lip protruding in that cute way it does, and for the first time in his life, he feels the desire to nip at it before soothing it with his tongue. So he does.

"Not this time," he mutters against her lips. His fingers graze over her temples and the electricity fades away just as he slowly tangles his hand into her hair.

He wants to pretend. Wants to be what she wants. A human. A man. Someone who knows how to be with her. He's not exactly Casanova when it comes to Gallifreyan sex, but his instincts tell him what he needs to know. But this- making love to a Human- making love to Rose- is completely foreign to him.

He nudges her onto her back, grinning at her as he leans besides her. He's not really sure what he's doing, but he knows that he's learned to love her taste- so distinctly Human and yet so uniquely Rose- and so he wants to taste her. Every inch of her. "Of course," he grins, "to add to my human sexual experience, I do believe that a full examination is necessary."

"Mmm," her chuckle tickles his nose and he can't help but wonder where her mind is roaming since he has yet to actually touch her.

He starts with her face, taking his time to explore with his lips. Her temple, her eyebrow, her fluttering eyelids, down her nose, ignoring her lips in favour of exploring along her jaw to find the shell of her ear.

When he exhausts the uncharted territory of her face, he begins searching lower. He pauses at the pulse point on her neck, taking his time to lick and nip at the throbbing vein, before travelling farther. He spends a lot of time mapping out her shoulder, running his tongue along her collarbone, nuzzling the silky skin, kissing the area between her breasts.

He focuses on her breasts then, the supple mounds he had all but ignored before. His tongue brings his attention to the right, licking, tasting, teeth grazing carefully. The tip of his tongue swirls around the delicate red skin. Her sudden gasp surprises him and he glances up at her. She's just smiling at him, her eyes slightly hooded. One of her hands winds through his hair and he's covering the erect bud with his lips and his hand moves up to knead her left breast.

He's delighted at how easily he can make her squirm just by tormenting one tiny area, but he's never known himself to have a very long attention span and quickly it begins to wane. He trails down her stomach, kissing each freckle as he moves farther and farther down. She's ticklish, he notices, when her stomach sucks in away from his lips.

He moves then, so that his knees are between her legs. She has dark curls down there, something he hadn't noticed before. He thinks to comment, but doesn't, more interested in running his nose through her curls and breathing in her scent.

He looks up when he feels her shift, watching as she tucks one arm under her head to see him better and lets her other hand stray to her stomach. She's grinning at him and he takes that as encouragement, hoping that he's doing this right.

Slowly, slowly he glides his hands up her thighs, spreading her legs for him. It's not the sight he knows from Gallifreyan anatomy, but it's close enough to understand. His tongue pokes out, taking his first taste. It's not what he expected- not that he really had an expectation- but it's different and wonderful. It's the most potent taste and scent of Rose that he's ever been exposed to and that's all that he cares about.

He begins to stroke her, his tongue sliding up and down her in long, flat strokes. And oh god, he's truly appreciating the overly sensitive taste buds he developed this time around.

He runs his tongue along her folds, tasting, exploring, mapping, learning, before he dips inside her. Oh, so good, so good. Then he's moving his tongue back out and running along her again. Back in, back out…

He sets a steady pace, almost too steady, too maddening. She's whimpering and moaning and wiggling in his light grasp, wanting more, needing more. He's really not sure what he can do other than what he's doing to push her further. He increases his pace, dipping his tongue inside her again.

Then he notices her fingers tangling through her curls, her middle finger brushing over a small section of pink skin. Relief pushes past her lips.

He stops. A whimper of loss intrigues him and, for a moment, he just watches her finger, but then his tongue, still wet with her juices, is curiously licking the length of the digit, nudging it away with his nose.

He's curious if this is another tiny spot that has so much reaction to simple touch. His tongue darts out, taking a few, quick experimental licks. He's watching her, smiling when his touch makes her breath hitch.

And that's when he begins in earnest, stroking in delightful patterns. He's curious, too, what dual stimulation will do for her reactive body, so his hand slides up her right thigh, dipping into her heat. Rassilon, she's burning; she's so much warmer than his fingers. He swirls his tongue in a circle just as he begins stroking her, firm and confident until he feels her inner walls tensing. Then he lightens his touch, softening his strokes and barely touching his tongue to her until she thinks she might scream from need.

His searching fingers curl inside her, finding the spot that makes her come undone. He's stroking her hard, letting the tightly wound coil in the pit of her stomach spring her towards oblivion. He's there with her, gently stroking her, gently licking, thrusting her higher and higher, keeping her soaring for just a little longer.

She's not completely aware of when he creeps up her body, bringing himself flush against hers. She only notices when his lips find hers and she's lapping up the taste of herself still coating his lips and tongue.

"Is that something humans do?"

Her smile is awkward, half formed, her muscles too exhausted to work properly. "Yeah. Definitely. Time Lords don't?"

"No… can't, em… can't climax if it won't lead to reproduction."

"So… no self-pleasure then?"

He huffs into her hair, not bothering to answer. She strokes his back, hoping her heart will calm. He's hard against her, his body craving hers just as much as she wants him to fill her. Her leg wraps around his waist of its own accord, giving him access.

His lips brush against her ear, his voice low, "What should I do?"

She's not sure what to say. She forgot that, despite his experience, he's still much like a virgin, unsure of himself and fumbling to figure out the next step. So she kisses him, pushing against his chest to push him off her, turning them over and straddling him. He helps guide her onto him, moaning at the contact, relieved at finally being connected.

She gives both of them a moment before she begins to ease off him, delighted at the prospect of feeling his second texture rubbing against her.

But again he starts suddenly. His hands are on her hips and he's slamming her back against him and, before she realizes what happened, he's pulled her against his chest and rolled them back over, holding her down with his lean body. His breath is coming in pants, attacking her ear.

Rose pushes away from him, finding his eyes, "What's wrong?" she breathes out. She can understand him being confused the first time, his only knowledge his instinctual Gallifreyan response. But he asked her, wanted her to show him Human sex, and then he stopped her.

"Please, don't do that."

He seems so desperate for some unknown reason and it scares her, scares her enough to nod, "Okay. Okay, I won't."

He swallows away his fear, opening his eyes to meet her worried eyes. "I'm sorry. Stupid me, should know better about this sort of thing." His hand grazes over the gentle ridges of her firm stomach on its way to tangle in her hair and rest on her temple. It's unexpected and overwhelming, the sudden revival of electricity sparking between their bodies. He's toying with her breasts, teasing her nipples and producing a gasp from her parted lips.

He needs her. Needs to feel their bodies gripping together. She's trapped beneath him and he flares inside of her, no longer worried about her moving away from him. They're more confident this time, knowing more about each other and quickly they fall back into the rhythm they had found before.

She's driving him towards the precipice too fast and he knows that she's not ready for him yet. But then he remembers how responsive that tiny bud was and he reaches down to feel her, stroking her, electricity dancing between his fingers and her bundle of nerves.

Suddenly, she's crying out, her muscles tightening and clinging to him. He strokes her again; her control over her breathing is gone and she's burying her face into his neck.

One more stroke and she comes undone for him, soaring into her orgasm. He keeps grinding against her, letting himself join her in ecstasy.

/-/-


	9. Morning After

_Author's Note: _Sorry guys, this one is pretty short. Last one will be up tomorrow night. Enjoy.

/-/-

She's gorgeous when she sleeps. He's always noticed the beauty in her youthful face, but he's never seen her so exposed, so open to him as he's seeing her now. He holds her to him, his one hand moving up and down her spine, gently soothing her sleep as he thinks.

Ever since he nearly got them killed in a basement in nineteenth century Cardiff, he's known that she stole a bit of room between his hearts. A large bit. More than any other companion had ever managed. He blames it on how raw and empty he was, how desperate for any contact at all, starved for sound and laughter. And she was there. But he knows better. He knows that it's simply Rose that makes him feel so alive.

He'd give anything to keep her safe, even send her away. And he knows that she'd do the same, even come back for him. She saved him so many times; she made him who he is now, in more ways than one. This body was born from her saving him- she created this younger, prettier, happier version of himself.

But that's not the point.

The point is that he's laying in bed, naked, holding the young Human girl he just made love to, and he doesn't feel an ounce of guilt about it. He thinks he ought to. He thinks he ought to be furious with himself. But he's not.

He's more uncertain than anything else. Rose may be his best mate and his companion, but she's also Human and a physical attachment with a Human isn't always the most brilliant of ideas. He decided that, a long time again, in his downright stuffy years, but he still thinks the guideline has merit. Sex with Humans spells trouble. Spells misunderstandings. Spells complications. Spells mixed signals.

He's a Time Lord. His race doesn't show emotions through sex and words and such Human concepts. They show it through telepathy, through simple contact, through the brushing of pure thoughts and emotions. And, unfortunately, as much as she enjoyed their night together, her tiny Human brain will never be able to understand what exactly his mind was trying to convey to her.

That's the real rub. He shows her every day with his hugs and their hand holding just what she means to him, and yet she doesn't get it. She doesn't understand just how intimate he is with her, at least for his culture. He sometimes thinks that's better, that she doesn't understand, because then she'll never want to move things to more comfortable territory. To a relationship she understands on Human terms.

She's going to leave him one day. He knows it. He's accepted it because he must. And he thinks, maybe, it's better if only one of them gets their heart trampled on.

He untangles himself then, brushing the pads of his fingertips over her temple. The blankets have fallen away from her body and he adjusts them, covering her modesty, before he sneaks away, intending on taking a quick shower before she wakes up. Maybe he'll even make them some breakfast.

/-

He's not there. It's the first thing she realizes when the last hold of sleep unhands her. She's still on her side of the bed, her hand reaching hopefully for a body that's not there. It's indented and, for a moment, she imagines him there. Imagines his cool body holding hers, forming perfectly to hers, stroking her lazily as he waits for her to wake.

She pulls his pillow to her, a pathetic substitute for him. It smells like him, but that's its only similarity.

God, she feels pathetic. He's never wanted her, not like that. It was all a need for release, a chemically induced desire. Hell, he didn't even really want to sleep with her, she practically forced him into bed with her.

Tears well up but she won't let them form completely.

She didn't fall in love with him at "run", but somewhere in that blur of adrenaline and excitement and adventure, she did. She found herself enraptured with his daft grin and big ears and piercing blue eyes. And she would have done anything for him. She did. She came back for him.

And then he changed. Suddenly big ears and leather became unruly hair and pinstripes. For a while, that was hard to accept. But Cassandra was right- she did look and she liked what she saw. She liked what she saw a lot. Still does.

But the Doctor has a naturally asexual vibe about him and she respected that, sort of. Only that conversation about "dancing" had given her any shred of hope, and then it was dashed by a surge of alien hormones and a one-night stand she's too embarrassed to talk about.

Oh, now that's a thought. They should really talk- so many questions are swirling through her mind. Was it just the hormone? Does he feel anything for her? What's in the future for them? It is too awkward now? Will he send her home? Does she want to go home? Can she live with what they did and not crave more?

Or does he want to ignore it, to sweep it up under the carpet like he does with so many other things? Is that why he's not there with her? Is he giving her an out? A way to not talk about it? Or did he just not want to be around her any more? Is he guilty? Embarrassed? Angry?

She pulls herself away from her thoughts, needing to flush all her worries from her mind. What she needs is a shower and some food, in that order.

/-/-


	10. Domesticish

_Author__'__s Note: _Because I'm really nice (but mostly because I'm excited I _finally_ get to watch the fourth series of Doctor Who), I decided to post early.

This is the last chapter of 'Language of Hands', but it's now a part of my first series 'Incompatible'. The next couple of stories are missing scenes from Series 2 that go along with this. The first one up will be called 'Almost Perfect'. Keep an eye out.

Enjoy!

/-/-

His back is to her when she wanders into the kitchen. She pauses, watching him, waiting for him to notice her. She does that often- in fact, she has always enjoyed her stolen moments of watching him when he is the most open to her.

He's not wearing his jacket and she wonders vaguely if she noticed it still in her room. His sleeves are rolled up and the gentle tufts of hair that are so rarely exposed wave in the breeze he's creating with his movements.

Just as she begins to notice the scent of bacon in the air, he turns. He's startled- it's in the slightest movements by his eyes and mouth- but he brushes past it and beams at her.

"Eggs?"

She smiles shyly at him, "Smells great."

She takes her normal seat, twisting her legs under her and curling her hands around the steaming mug of tea he set out for her. Two plates clatter onto the table and he folds himself into his chair beside her, a piece of bacon already being torn between his teeth and a fork preparing the heap of eggs to be scooped up into his mouth. She just grabs the slice of bread off the corner of her plate.

"So… I ran a few tests on my blood. Looks like the hormone is completely foreign to both Gallifreyans and Humans. Can't produce it on our own. Now that we're not ingesting it, it'll degrade and be cleaned out of our systems in no time. Be fine by the end of the day. You know…"

She's sure he's still talking- quite the gab he's got- but she's not listening to him any more. He's probably degraded into something terribly technical or theoretical or something that has nothing to do with anything any longer.

She's not listening because her own thoughts have rattled away from her. It's all terribly domestic, isn't it? Them sitting there, chatting over tea and the breakfast he made her after a night of incredible sex. He might scold her for thinking it, but in that moment, as he shovels food into his mouth and chatters around it in that excited way he has, he's just like every other man she's ever known. If they weren't sitting in the kitchen of a living ship and he wasn't an alien talking about an alien hormone, she would have said that they seemed pretty normal.

His plateful of food is suddenly gone and he quiets as he swallows down the last of it. She realizes then that, somewhere between his ramblings and her musings, she's only managed to nibble off about half the toast in her hand and that she had offered him the majority of her plate. He takes them both, rinsing them off and leaving them in the sink. The TARDIS will take care of them later.

"Was it all the hormones?" God, did she just say that out loud? He turns and looks at her. "Last night. All that. Was that nothing of you at all?" She knows that she must be blushing furiously. She wants to look away, to keep him from noticing that she's embarrassed, or better yet to keep from facing the look of pity on his face. But she can't.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he looses the words in a sigh before he returns to his seat. "No. No, that… The hormones just made me… lose my inhibitions." She can't quite decide if that's what she wanted to hear or not. It might have been easier if he had just tutted at her and claimed the right of being a superior alien. Probably not.

His eyes are so open, so soft and dare she say pleading, as he asks, "And you?"

It might have been easier to brush him off, claim it was nothing, that she's only into humans. But she can't. "Same."

"Yeah… Look, the thing is… Our cultures look at relationships a lot differently. See…" He tugs at his ear and tries to look away. She's always thought he's at his cutest when he's embarrassed. "The way you and I act with each other, on Gallifrey, we'd have been considered quite close. Intimate, really."

"Intimate, without sex?"

"Unless you wanted children." All the blood drops away from her face. "What's wrong?"

"I haven't been on the pill in a while and we didn't use a condom."

His eyes fall onto a speck of syrup on the table, his mind working over her words as if something she said didn't quite translate. She waits until she sees understanding dawn on him. "Oh, um, yeah, no… I'm sort of… condom impaired."

"Condom impaired?" she laughs.

"Wouldn't really work with something in the way."

"Oh… right…" She lets herself take that information in, before she finds her voice again, "Are we… There's no chance that I-?"

"No… no, you're… Don't think so. Pretty sure that the odds are incredibly high against you getting… Naw, you're fine."

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure. Welll, when I say sure…" He clears his throat uncomfortably and she lets his comment slide.

"On Earth, we would be considered blind idiots." His confusion makes her laugh and she takes pity on him, explaining, "You said, on Gallifrey, we'd be considered intimate. On Earth-"

"Blind idiots." He nods and she nods back in agreement. "I… See I never wanted to get involved with a human that I travelled with because… well you Humans like sex. You have an insatiable sex drive and I can't even begin to understand your mating habits and I don't- I don't want to muck things up. I don't want things to be complicated. I just… I just want us to be like we've always been."

"Oh…"

She knows he doesn't mean it like that, but she can't help the disappointment leak into her single word. He groans, "See right there! I said something wrong and I didn't mean to. It's not… it's not that I didn't enjoy last night- I did, I really did. But I… but I just don't do that."

"I don't need sex every night," she laughs at him.

"I know that," he rolls his eyes, "But you'll still want it and I'll never notice the signs. Gallifreyan women give off specific pheromones that stimulate the male sex drive. I don't want things to be complicated and weird."

She finds his hand across the table, squeezing it comfortingly, "Me neither. That's okay. We don't need to push this into uncomfortable territory." He nods a little, smiling down at their joined hands. "But, if I asked, outright asked, no confusion-" His brows are furrowed at her, waiting, as a slow smirk parts her lips and lets her tongue poke out, "Would you make love to me again?"

He grins widely at her, flashing teeth, "I do like the kissing."

"Me too."

Quiet descends over them. Rose listens to the soft humming vibrating throughout the TARDIS. "Can I ask you something? About last night?"

"Hmm?"

"When I- when…" A blush is burning her checks and this time she does look down as she finishes asking, "You didn't want me to rise off you. You kind of freaked out on me."

"Oh, that," she glances up at his tone to find that he's looking down. "Well… It's… When Gallifreyans have sex, it's to procreate. There isn't pointless sex, waste of bodily fluids."

"That's why there's no self-pleasure."

He smiles, albeit awkwardly, and nods. "Yeah… It's instinct to complete the act. Once I've flared inside you- that's what it's called- it's like I'm gripping you, inside. If you pull away, it… well, it would hurt. A lot. It's just… we don't pull away prematurely. I didn't think; I should have warned you about that."

"It's okay," she smiles gently.

He looks at her for a moment. There's a question in his eyes and she just waits for the words to make their way to his tongue. "So you move during sex, you Humans?"

She wants to laugh, but holds it back, making her voice drop lower and leaning partly across, "It's all about friction. But I have to say, I like your way better."

"Huh…" The Doctor nods, standing abruptly and running a hand through his hair. Rose flops back into her chair, staring at him. He's at the doorway when he turns on his heel. "That was a sign, wasn't it?"

"That was."

"Right… This isn't something I'm going to learn quickly, is it?"

"Very few Human males have put it together either." She gets to her feet, patting him on the shoulder as she brushes past him, "Don't worry, you're not alone."

/-

THE END


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